


Oubliette

by Leloi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bad therapist, Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, Gift Fic, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-25 00:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9794723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leloi/pseuds/Leloi
Summary: The police came and took him away.  As he sat in the back of the police cruiser he found he could not remember most of what happened except as part of a dream.  In the dream he had been so very angry.  The anger built in him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IantoLives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IantoLives/gifts).



> IantoLives wrote a fic called "John's New Therapist." I'm not going to spoil it, but Ianto wanted to see more of Eurus messing with John's head as a therapist. Eurus had the ability to program him to do some pretty dark stuff. But as I was writing Greg interfered. I may explore this theme again later and go much darker. The pieces are there for something truly tragic. But this delving is mild.
> 
> For IantoLives ^^v

John took a deep, cleansing breath. In and out. Slowly his vision began to clear and he found himself in the morgue. That surprised him because every detail was exactly like the dream he had just woken from. His vision cleared, the blackness receding the edges as his lungs fought to take in enough oxygen. Someone still held his arms back and his knuckles hurt. In the dream they had been someone else’s hands.

Sherlock looked up at him from the floor, misery and regret in his eyes. His eyebrow was split, blood beginning to drip into his eye. There was a darkness around the iris. ‘Subconjunctival hemorrhage’ the doctor in him instantly labeled it. Sherlock had suffered trauma. It was clear from the blood flowing unchecked from his eyebrow, nose and lip. 

For a moment John wanted to find the person who did this to Sherlock and take him out. 

And then he remembered the dream. The dream that had felt so real. Even now his knuckles were sore.

The police came and took him away. As he sat in the back of the police cruiser he found he could not remember most of what happened except as part of a dream. In the dream he had been so very angry. The anger built in him.

“Strike out.” His therapist had said that. And so he did. In his dream he struck out at what was bothering him. His knuckles met flesh and bone. The room had swallowed him in darkness and all he could feel were where his hands and feet making contact with the body on the floor. His pain from loss was transferred from his feet to the soft body that took his kicks. Soft grunts of pain.

“I killed his wife.” Sherlock whispered, broken.

“Yes, you did.” 

“John?” Lestrade’s voice called to him.

John startled out of his thoughts, finding himself in an interrogation room. His eyes focused on the man sitting across from him.

“You were talking about Sherlock.”

“I hit him, Greg. I hit him hard.” And he remembered the look on Sherlock’s face as he threw the man against the wall and hit him over and over. There was a calm acceptance.

“He didn’t kill Mary.”

“What?” John looked at the man across from him in confusion. “He said he did.”

“Sherlock was trying to get Norbury’s attention. Mary jumped in front of him.”

“No…” John stared down at his split knuckles. “That’s not what happened.”

“I was there.”

“But he said…”

“Listen to me. Mary jumped in front of Sherlock as he tried to coax an unstable person with a gun to shoot him. Mary was not the target.”

John shook his head. Sherlock wasn’t suicidal. Why would he be suicidal? His therapist had said… She had said so many things about Sherlock not thinking of anyone but himself. Sherlock was selfish and liked being the center of attention. The man was proud, thinking himself so clever. The detective was cold, without any feelings of real sentiment except as a means to manipulate people. If he didn’t push back then he would be completely overwhelmed by Sherlock’s ego. “No.”

“John, listen to me, mate.” Greg leaned forward. “He’s burning himself out.”

“No.”

“I’ve seen it before. I know where this leads if he doesn’t get help. He’s been off since your wedding. You haven’t noticed anything?”

And John remembered the attempt to overdose on the plane. Sherlock had not planned for medical intervention. If Sherlock had his way he would have been dead long before the plane landed.

The words his therapist had used to describe Sherlock seemed wrong now. Sherlock was actually killing himself. And John had thrown him across the room and beat him.

^.~

John stared at the man sitting in the chair. The spark of life was gone from his eyes. Why had he ever imagined that Sherlock was cocky? The man before him was broken. The cuts and bruises were from John’s own hand. His therapist had been wrong about fighting his problems. 

“Talk to him.” Mary prompted from her position at the edge of the room.

“Sherlock…”

Pale eyes full of guarded trust looked at him. When John took a step forward, Sherlock bowed his head in submission, accepting anything John wanted to do to him. And that hurt to know. The proud, arrogant man his therapist had told him to fight against had instantly crumbled into dust, leaving a timid, depressed being in his place. “I have broken Sherlock Holmes.” The thought came unbidden into his mind. And he knew instantly it was true. “I’m sorry.”

“’S not your fault.” Sherlock murmured, looking down at the floor. “I goaded you into it. I goad everyone into it.”

 _“Fight, hit, punch…”_ The words rolled around in John’s mind as he took a seat across from Sherlock. _“You have every right after what he did.”_

Sherlock startled and leaned back. 

The movement pulled John from his thoughts and he realized he had been leaning forward. There was fear in Sherlock’s eyes, made even more surreal by the eye injury. “Sorry.”

Sherlock stared down at the floor. “I deserve it.”

“No, you don’t! On some level I know that. I just… I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” John admitted.

“She messed with your head.” Mary responded.

“I will sit here and try not to glare at you.” John sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “I shouldn’t have hit you.”

“Yes, you should.”

“I’m a bloody doctor! I’ve seen domestic abuse before. I’ve helped victims find a way out of their situation. There’s no excuse for what I did.”

“I told you… I goaded you into it.”

“I was the sober one! You were drugged out of your mind. I have seen abuse before because I’m a doctor. I should know better. And you sound like them. ‘I made him do it.’ Stop it! I know it’s wrong. I hurt you.”

“It’s not the first time…” Sherlock breathed.

John blinked and looked at him. “What?”

“It’s not the first, it won’t be the last…” Sherlock answered.

“Yes, I hope it is the last. I don’t want to be that kind of person that beats up those I love.”

“I knew about your temper and your violence.” Sherlock shrugged.

“That doesn’t make it alright.” John leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. “You shouldn’t accept it from me. It’s not healthy.”

Sherlock didn’t reply. Instead he stared down at his hands.

“Tell him you’re sorry for hurting him.” Mary prompted.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Sherlock nodded in reply. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

John shut his eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath. 

\--Fin


End file.
